


Lullaby

by gothpandaotaku



Series: Short and Sweet [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Dean comforts Sam, Episode: s11e14 The Vessel, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Lullabies, M/M, Post-Episode: s11e14 The Vessel, Sleep Deprivation, Traumatized Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 21:17:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6094261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothpandaotaku/pseuds/gothpandaotaku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's not dealing so well with the aftermath of his time Lucifer in Cas' body. It takes a sleepless night for Dean to notice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lullaby

**Author's Note:**

> Because I need to see Dean comforting Sammy about that moment and I know I'm not gonna get it on the show.

The Bunker was dark, so dark, you could barely see a foot in front of you. But Dean was used to the dark, called it home, and had no trouble navigating the Bunker’s long winding hallways by instinct alone.

Sleep was a pipe dream at best, so rather than lying in bed imagining the _Bluefin,_ and everyone in it, going down every time he closed his eyes, he decided coffee was a much better option.

He hadn’t expected a small, dull glow emanating from the kitchen. Dean tensed, peering over the threshold into the kitchen silently. Sam sat at the table hunched over a tome, just as Dean had left him four hours ago. A tiny lamp off to the side offered a miniscule amount of dim light for Sam to see by.

“Sam? What the hell are you doing up?”

Sam jumped as Dean entered the kitchen and headed straight for the (half empty, to Dean’s dismay) coffee pot on the counter, blinking rapidly, as if Dean had woken him up. “Oh, uh, nothing, just uh, looking through the lore, you know…” Dean watched with a raised eyebrow as Sam rubbed at his eyes sleepily. Something he used to do when he was a kid.

“…Right,” Dean grunted, filling his mug with the hot steamy liquid he needed to face the day. He sat across from his brother and took in the bags under Sam’s eyes, the drooping eyelids, the sickly pallor of Sam’s skin. The bags under Sam’s eyes had bags for fuck’s sake, so deep and dark they looked more like bruises. “How long you been up?”

For several long moments Sam merely stared at him vacantly, a distant look in his eyes. Finally, _finally_ , Sam met Dean’s gaze and shrugged halfheartedly, the movement clumsy and sluggish. Dean felt tired just watching him.

“You _don’t know_?” Dean breathed with morbid amazement. “ _Days?”_

“Probably,” Sam said in a small voice. He sounded so defeated… Guilt flooded through Dean, hot and shameful. When had it gotten this bad? He should have seen it, should have noticed it and done something about it, so much sooner. It was his _one fucking job_ , to take care of Sammy, and more than half the time he screwed that up, just like he’s doing right now.

But what-ifs and should-haves and could-have-beens weren’t going to do anyone any good, as had been drilled into Dean many, many times from a young age. They sure weren’t going to help his brother right now.

Dean stood from his chair, coffee long forgotten and gone cold. “Come on Sasquatch, time for bed.” He gently grabbed Sam’s arm and tugged until Sam got the idea. Sam was so out of it he barely registered Dean half carrying him to his room, nice and pliant (which actually scared Dean a little; Sam should always be stubborn and argumentative and a general pain in the ass).

With a grunt of effort, Dean unceremoniously deposited Sam onto his bed. Relieved that Sam’s eyes immediately fell closed the moment his head hit the pillow, he got to work removing Sam’s flannel and jeans and tugged the covers over Sam’s body. Before he leaves, he presses a kiss onto the corner of Sam’s lips. “Night, Sammy.”

Just as Dean tiptoed past the threshold, a quiet whimper reached his ears.

“Can’t, can’t sleep,” Sam croaked, voice dry and raspy, “ _He’s_ in me, infecting my soul, making it black-”

“Sam-”

“- _He’s_ ripping it apart-”

“ _Sammy!”_

Dean can’t listen to anymore, because his heart is breaking. He _can’t_. So he crawls into bed next to Sam even though it was definitely not made to fit two grown-ass men and pulls Sam close, blanketing Sam with his body. He shushes the gasps of “ _He’s in me, he’s in me,”_ until they gradually die down and Sam’s breathes slow.

_Hey Jude, don't make it bad_  
_Take a sad song and make it better_  
 _Remember to let her into your heart_  
 _Then you can start to make it better_

_Hey Jude, don't be afraid_  
_You were made to go out and get her_  
 _The minute you let her under your skin_  
 _Then you begin to make it better_

_And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain_  
_Don't carry the world upon your shoulders_  
 _For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool_  
 _By making his world a little colder_  
 _Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love! And I love love! :D


End file.
